


Rainy Sunday

by S_Faith



Category: Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-20
Updated: 2009-07-20
Packaged: 2019-11-21 20:35:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18147110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Faith/pseuds/S_Faith
Summary: Sunday morning, rain is falling / steal some covers, share some skin /  clouds are shrouding us in moments unforgettable / you twist to fit the mold that I am in…





	Rainy Sunday

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Maroon5. (I had to take a break from the graphic work.)
> 
> Disclaimer: SOOOOO not mine. Not that I name names or anything, but I think you know who this is supposed to be.

Rain pattered against the windowpanes in steady, comforting rhythm; the sky was like a swath of grey flannel as best as she could tell through the curtains. She closed her eyes again, quickly falling back into that limbo-like place between sleep and wakefulness; she was tucked happily into the rustled sheets and duvet, her limbs suffused with a pleasant lazy heaviness, her thoughts drifting free-range in contemplation.

She was thankful that it was Sunday morning; she could stay just as she was for as long as she wanted, lulled by the cosiness of it all, no pressure to be anywhere or to do anything.

She was also thankful for the radiant heat she felt beside her, because that meant that the love of her life was there with her, still sleeping, or at the very least, still in a state similar to her own.

The bed moved gently with his weight as he turned over; his hand skimmed over her stomach as he came closer to her. She turned her head, peeking her eyes open to look at him. He appeared to be sound asleep, truly sound asleep, judging by the even rise and fall of his chest until one singular exhalation came out as a great satisfied sigh. Sleep was unperturbed; his features were peaceful and serene.

He often wondered, always teasingly, why she looked at him while he slept. Despite her years of training and experience with the English language, she was never able to find sufficient words to explain that there was nothing more beautiful in the world to her than the unguarded and untroubled look on his face in that state. It always tempted her to reach out and trace her fingers along his cheek, but if she did so, he inevitably awakened, ruining that lovely sight.

She was for a little while content to look at him as he slept, but decided to gingerly turn over towards him. Instead of touching him, though, she reached forward and placed her lips on his. Involuntarily he tightened his arm around her, responding to her kiss with his own, opening his eyes to look at her as she nestled in against him.

She smiled, content to try to memorise the way he was looking at her with his sleepy brown eyes. She didn’t need words to say ‘good morning’. The corner of his mouth turned up as he blinked groggily, running his hand over her hair, likely smoothing it down from a long night’s sleep.

Impulsively she leaned forward to kiss him again, and this time it was no light, fleeting kiss, causing him to make a lovely soft sound deep in his throat, causing his arm to drop down and tighten around her again.

Her hand found his own hip and she pulled herself even closer still to him; she pushed herself up on her elbow, pushed him down into his pillow, her kiss turning ever more passionate as she entwined her leg around his. Her hair tickled even her own cheek, and she felt his hand in her hair tucking it back behind her ear, where of course it did not remain.

She raked her nails over his skin, on his chest and along his hip, pushing her own hips into him.

His arm came up and around her waist, pulling her up onto him before running both of his hands along her back and over the curve of her backside, squeezing gently, making his own budding arousal against her thigh that much more evident. This time she sighed into his mouth and moved her hand down towards it.

He moaned a little as she touched him, stroked him, caressed him until his kisses became downright aggressive and ravenous, one hand firm on her arse, the other heading for her breast. The touch of his fingers on her nipple made her gasp, and she rocked against his thigh.

As the storm intensified—rain veritably pounding on the windows, thunder rumbling and rattling the glass, lightning flashing behind the curtains—she broke away from his kiss and pulled herself up onto him, straddling him properly. He gasped and groaned as she eased herself onto him; as she descended fully, she gasped too.

Because of the differences in their heights, she could not ordinarily reach him to kiss him as she rode him. He pushed himself up on his elbows so that she could reclaim his mouth, quickly moving to place her lips on his throat, her teeth grazing on his skin, her fingernails raking across his scalp, seemingly spurring him on. He bucked up into her with increasing speed until she felt his head drop back, heard him growl low in his throat, and he tensed up as he came.

She was very close herself; the position was quite advantageous to her pleasure. She arched back, her chin lifting to the ceiling, and felt his tongue brush against her nipple, then, as she leaned forward a little, his lips took hold, his teeth gently grazing the tender skin there. She shuddered, crying out as she came; every nerve ending jolted with electricity as if lightning from the storm itself had touched her. When she ceased moving, he fell back against the bed; concurrent with her landing on him, she felt his arms come up to encircle her, his lips claiming hers again.

Sighing contentedly, she turned her head and kissed his throat once more, the feel of the strong pulse in his neck marvellous and reassuring against her lips. She made a low, contented sound as his fingers traced along the divot of her spine, in concert with the storm abating, the rain returning to a steady, almost mesmerising thrumming on the windows.

She could think of no better way to spend a rainy Sunday morning, and from the nonverbal sounds of appreciation emanating from his throat, she was quite confident he agreed.

_The end._


End file.
